Love of the World
by Octavia Kendall
Summary: Businessmen and rich people have been invited to a formal get-together to chat, drink, and chat some more. It's all men, all wine, and all gossip. Then, this young girl shows up and is let in without an invitation. One by one, she talks to the men and flirts with them, disappearing before they have a chance to say goodbye. Who is this girl, and why is she here? OC x World (Rich AU)
1. Arthur

The only noises you could hear in the air surrounding the party was the clinking of wine glasses and small chattering that could've been small conversation or gossip. You couldn't tell which unless you were either part of the conversation or thoroughly eavesdropping. It was hard to thoroughly eavesdrop when everyone was whispering, however; it would've been easier to just listen and be a part of the conversation. There were two people, however, that were not part of any conversation, and were rather just standing there, hoping for someone to call them over to talk.

The first of these two people was Arthur Kirkland, a rich British gentleman who could do nothing but stand around and sip his glass of wine that he didn't even want as everyone else spoke. He had good ears, however, and as able to listen to the conversations around him, one by one. He noticed, however, that most of these conversations were focusing on a mysterious girl that had arrived to the party without an invitation, but was still let in despite this.

They say she might have had some kind of a relationship (whether by blood or by romance) to either the host of the party or simply the host who was checking the invitations at the entranceway. Most were assuming the latter, but you could never know since this girl's name had not been annouced like everyone else's, along with the fact that she had not spoken to anyone else since her arrival. The girl (who looked only about seventeen or eighteen years old) instead took a glass of wine, sipping on it while she stood around and smirked every time she found a party guest who was appealing to her in some sort of way. Obviously, this made her the second bystander.

Arthur glanced over at her. Her hair was black and long, shimmering in the brightlights of the chandeliers above her. It was tied into two loose pigtails that went over her shoulders and down across her well-endowed chest all the way down to her waist. He couldn't have been that much taller than her; only an inch or two at the most, or maybe that was just the fact that she was wearing black high-heeled shoes. She could actually have been a little shorter than that. Her dress was long enough to go to just a little past her knees, not hugging it in any way, except around the middle of her stomach where the rhinestone-incrusted waistband was stitched on. It seemed to be made out of silk, sapphire blue and long sleeved.

Basically put, Arthur thought she looked absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

He was just about to muster up the courage to walk over to her and speak a word (honestly, he had been trying to do that since she arrived almost an hour earlier) when he heard the noise a high heel makes when walking on a solid tile floor like the one beneath his feet. Was she coming over to him? He didn't know that, but he did know a few things: his heart was racing, he could barely move because he was so tense, and he was sure he was sweating a bit, but he wasn't going to let that last thing get to him.

"Hello," she said politely. Her voice had an American accent to it and nothing else, but it sounded so beautiful that Arthur wanted to keep the conversation going.

"Greetings," he said politely and nonchalantly, but also subconsciously trying to impress her. "How are you doing this evening? I'm Arthur Kirkland." He took her hand and kissed the top of it, trying to be formal.

"I'm doing just fine, Mr. Kirkland," she said, keeping her voice in the seductive tone she had been using before. Arthur honestly wanted to take her right on up to his room with the sensation she was giving him. "My name is Annabelle Smith."

Annabelle. He had always liked that name. "That's a beautiful name… just like you." He winked at her. He didn't even know why he said that and gave her a wink afterwards. Was she controlling him with her looks and her voice, or was love getting ahold of him. He wasn't sure anymore, but he wasn't going to ruin the moment by freaking out and panicking. He stayed still.

She giggled, obviously amused in some form or fashion by his tasteless flirting. "I think we could get well aquainted on the dance floor."

* * *

Arthur laughed as he and Annabelle chatted over a glass of wine. She had revealed to him as they were dancing that she was only eighteen, but Arthur didn't stop her from drinking the wine. He was much younger than that when he started drinking, so he wouldn't have been in the right to stop her, even though that would've been better for her health. Was it bad that he thought this eighteen year old girl was cute when he was twenty-three, and therefore a good five years older than she was? Sure, it wouldn't seem like it was as much when they got a bit older, but…

Why was he even thinking about when they were older?

Maybe he was just hoping this girl wasn't playing him for the money in his wallet and was actually interested in him. Most of the people (man or woman; he didn't care, in all honesty) he had hooked up with at some point took of good chuck of cash out of his wallet and then left without another word. But this girl acted different from the rest of them… could she actually have liked him?

He gulped down some of the wine instead he sipping it like he had been before. "So, Annabelle-"

But she was gone, with her wine glass sitting half-empty on the table.


	2. Alfred

Alfred F. Jones was a businessman, but he didn't really enjoy his job. He worked for good money in the patent office; that much was true, but it was just boring. There was no one that was ever around him but much older men, along with his boss. He felt lonely. He rarely ever saw a woman, not at work, and barely ever in public. Then this party came along. It was still mostly populated by men, but there was one girl in the crowd.

She was gorgeous in every way. She looked like evrything he had ever wanted in a woman and more. It wasn't just the outfit talking; it was her skin, her hair, her beautiful oak eyes… everything. She looked so young, and yet, she was sipping on a glass of wine. She was gorgeous, and he was tied between wanting to marry her and simply wanting to talk to and dance with her. He could do both, but… that first one would've been just a bit too fast.

He saw her dancing with that Kirkland guy. That guy who was British and formal and rich and everything some bloodsucking girl would want in a guy. Was that girl really a gold digger who had showed up to leech off of the money of every man in here; turning out their pockets the second she got close to them? Alfred didn't want to risk it, but at the same time, he did. That girl was beautiful, and he wanted her to talk to him, to dance with him, to kiss him… everything.

He looked back over to where she and the Kirkland guy had been talking together. He was alone now, seeming solemn as he sipped the glass of wine in his hand. Next to him, there was the glass that the girl had been sipping, half-empty and unattended. Kirkland seemed to be staring at the glass in between sips, as if he missed the person whose glass was now sitting in front of him, unfinished and turning warm as the minutes passed.

He chuckled, finding humour in the British gentleman's misery. The thing he had seemingly wanted had slipped right through his fingers after an ill-fated waltz. That just got Alfred's brain thinking and his gears turning- where was that girl now? He looked behind and around Kirkland. She was nowhere to be found within that area. He looked to the right and the extending areas. She wasn't there, rither. He glanced over to his left, but yelped when he saw a beauitful pair of oak brown eyes reflecting his own ocean blue ones.

"Hello," she said politely. Her voice was deep and seductive, erotic, even.

"Hello," he said, realizing that his voice could never top that- figuratively or literally. "How are you this fine evening?"

"I'm doing just fine," she said, not changing the way she spoke. Alfred could feel his pants getting a little tighter.

"I'm Alfred F. Jones," he said, taking her hand and kissing the top of it, trying to stay formal as his erection got larger.

"What does the 'F' stand for?"

"Not on your life."

"I feel that same way about my middle name."

"Well, what's your actual name, so I have a name to match the face with?"

"Snow. Yuri J. Snow."

"Beautiful. So, again, I'm not going to find out what that 'J' stands for?"

"Never in your life."

He chuckled. "Want to get to know each other a little better on the dance floor?"

"Of course."

* * *

He chuckled, his voice going high-pitched. He didn't even know what he was talking about anymore; something crazy, like he didn't even know what. It was all too obvious that he was drunk, and he knew that, too, but he couldn't help himself from asking Yuri to keep refilling his glass with the bourbon over and over again.

He mumbled something crazy and let out a hiccup. "Hey, Yuri, fill me up!"

The bottle was sitting on the table next to him, unattended.


	3. Feliciano

Feliciano Vargas was rich, sure, but he wasn't rich for reasons like being a businessman or inheriting a large sum of money like everyone else there. Feliciano was a model and, unknowingly to everyone around him, a porn star. He would have sex with other men and a lot of ladies in front of a camera without any censorship or clothing and get paid for it. Then, he would put on sexy clothes and show off over and over and get paid more. He was so successful and frugal that he eventually became rich, and he was invited to this party for whatever reason.

It was all men around him. He didn't like that. At fancy parties, there were supposed to be ladies in sexy dresses, drinking wine and flirting with men everywhere, seducing them, leading them onto the dance floor, getting them drunk, and having sex with them behind closed doors. That's the way parties were supposed to be, but this was different. All rich men in tuxes, talking and gossiping through whispers while sipping on the wine glasses in their hands. That was boring. Feliciano wanted a woman to flirt with.

His boredom changed the second he heard the clicking noise of a high heel touching expensive tile such as that which was beneath his feet. None of the men were wearing any kind of heel; just flat dress shoes that were fancier than money could hope to buy (although it was obvious they did, what with every man inside the building being rich). As the high heels click, click, clicked on the floor with every step the person wearing them took, Feliciano listened to the classical music playing in the room. He couldn't help but ballroom dance a bit with himself.

He choked up as he bumped into a person that he didn't even see was there, causing him to trip, but he quickly caught his balance so he didn't fall. He didn't want everyone to stare, causing him to make a fool of himself. However, the person he had tripped over helped, almost taking a fall before Feliciano grabbed their hand and pulled them up into his arms, saving from coming into contact with the floor. He looked down to apologize to who he had tripped over and nearly made a fool of before discovering a sapphire blue dress and a large pair of breasts.

His jaw must've dropped a few inches; he thought there were no women attending this party! "I'm sorry about that, miss."

She giggled; there was a slight hiccup to her laugh. "Grazie," she said. Her voice was deep and erotic, bringing a smirk to Feliciano's face. Not to mention, she spoke Italian to him because she noticed his accent. "I'm sorry for being in your way, mister..."

"Vargas," he said, pulling her to her feet and kissing the top of her hand, which had already been in his from the get go. "Feliciano Veniziano Vargas."

"Rocchetti. Francesca Rocchetti."

He smiled. Her voice was clearly American, but she had the name of a true Italian. Could it have been possible that this girl was of Italian decent, or that she was truly an Italian who was pretending to be an American to avoid judgement of any kind? "That's a very pretty name. Just like the way you look tonight, bella."

She blushed intensely. "Grazie," she said again, her voice identical to the way it did last time. "Would you like to talk and flirt more while doing a waltz?"

"Sì."

* * *

They were now having a competition to see how much wine they could drink in fifteen seconds. So far, Francesca (whom he was now calling Chess as an affectionate nickname) was winning at half the bottle.

Feliciano gulped down an entire two thirds when the fifteen second timer when off. "Beat that-!"

He looked up, and Francesa was gone.


	4. Gilbert

They called him the annoying sort. He felt offended every time he heard some say it to him, though; you couldn't call the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt annoying! It was discriminatory in a way to him; he would turn his back to you the second he heard you say it, and he would be off within a matter of seconds after that. If you felt the need to call him anything, you should've said a royal title, or something that complimented him, otherwise you would've seen why he was called 'The Rich Devil on Earth'.

He growled upon looking around. He didn't like wine at all; he only drank beer, which meant he was going thirsty as he talked to the three or four men surrounding him, each one holding a glass of wine. When one was speaking, all of the others would touch the glass to their lips, tilt it up, and sip from it slowly, not coming up for air until it was their turn to speak. That, of course, made it worse for the man who didn't get to speak for a while, because he would end up drowning in his own wine, needing a refill, or leaving the conversation as a drunkard.

Looking around as he completely ignored the words of the man speaking now, he saw that the words 'every person in the room' could quickly be turned into 'every man in the room', and it would still mean the same thing, as there were no women attending. He didn't care what kind of woman, as long as she was young and pretty. If she met those requirements, he would probably flirt with her from dawn till dusk and watch her get drunk on wine.

But it was impossible to do. There were no women to be seen for miles. Only rich men who had nothing better to do than drink wine, gossip, drink some more, and gossip just a little more before there glass needed refilled and they left the party drunk as a man who hadn't left the pub for a few days, despite only having attended for a few hours. It's not that Gilbert was disgusted; it was more that he was appalled because none of those men appeared to be married. If you were rich, it should've been easy to land a girl, right?

Well, some of them were gay, and some of them didn't have interest in finding a partner just yet. Some of them were annoying, some of them were complete jerks, and some of them always left a place so drunk, it would be as seldom to see them sober as it is to see the Northern Lights in a place where they never appeared. When you took all of those things into account... It still didn't make any sense. One of them had to have a girlfriend or a wife or something. But, alas, nothing. No women.

He wanted there to be a woman there. He was completely and entirely sober, unlike everyone else there, who had been drinking nothing but wine all night. He could flirt with a girl, and she may assume him to be drunk until he shows that he's not, and by then a girl would join him on the dance floor and let him know what she tasted like by only a touch of the lips instead of the movement of them. If that were possible that night, Gilbert would've left the party as the happiest man alive, but it was clearly impossible, as (if it weren't stated enough already in his mind and by his own eyes) there were no women.

Then he saw someone dancing. Someone wearing blue, dancing with that rich British guy, Kirkland. The American guy, Jones. And one of the Italians there, who were both a Vargas. None of the three men were entirely straight, so he couldn't tell if they were dancing with a girl or not, but he was pretty sure men didn't wear dresses or high heels, grow their hair out insanely long, and have insanely large breasts. At that point, Gilbert was sure there was a woman at this party, even if there was only one.

"Gutentag," he said, walking over to her when she was alone. "How are you?"

"I'm doing quite well tonight, sir. Thank you for asking."

"My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt. What would yours happen to be, sexy?"

"Hanna Köpher."

"Beautiful. Care to dance?"

"I would love to."

* * *

He lost her in a twirl.

She was gone before he knew it.


	5. Francis

Francis Bonnefoy had three jobs. He was a handsome French actor, a handsome French model, and a handsome French heartbreaker. Girls loved him. He would flirt with them, and drink with them, and have sex with them, and then he would leave then the next morning. They would be upset, heartbroken, no longer a virgin (if they were one before), and they would have an extremely large chunk of money missing from their purse.

He loved what he did. He couldn't say much less. Flirt with a girl, get her going and enjoying you. Give her a drink and maybe get her a tad drunk before doing the real deed. Then, do the deed, but don't make it seem like you've actually done this before. Then, after they've fallen asleep, steal their wallet and every bit of cash they've got on them before putting your clothes back on and sneaking away into the night. It was a simple process, really, and Francis had absolutely no shame in what he did.

So, it was all too obvious that he could've thrown a fit when he discovered that there were absolutely no women at this party. He wanted to pull one of his moves, and now that could obviously be deemed impossible because there was no one to do it with. There were only other men; other, very rich, men. And, in case you were wondering, it wasn't just both his jobs that got him rich; it was all that theft. Thievery was a second good way to get rich, especially if they never noticed until it was too late.

He poured himself another wine glass and continued sipping it as he listened to the music playing over the speakers. It wasn't music that people listened to on the radio or on CDs, but rather, when you were ballroom dancing or playing the piano. Basically put, the music playing over the speakers that everyone was listening to? It was classical music, and that was the only thing they could listen to while they were attending this party.

Then it hit him. The invitation said very little about much of anything. The invitations read:

 **COME TO 1687 BOLD WAY**

 **7:30pm**

 **BRING INVITATION AS ENTRY TICKET**

The invite was not only very vague, but it sounded like it was trying to hide something. What was this party being held for? Was it just a little get-together for rich men to drink wine, gossip, drink more wine, and gossip some more? If that was true, that was good, because that's what practically everyone was doing. But if that wasn't true, then what was it really for? Because if Francis knew anything... this certainly wasn't it.

He looked over. Blue. All the men here were dressed in bland black and white tuxedos, with fancy black dress shoes. This was strange. He took a few steps forward and looked again. That's when he saw that the blue was actually part of a long sleeve dress that appeared to be made out of silk, and he person wearing it was also wearing a pair of high heeled shoes. They had dark, flawless skin and long black hair brought back into pigtails that laid across their very well endowed chest.

He gasped. "A girl!"

She turned around. "Yes. Yes, I am." Her voice was deep, and she was speaking in such a seductive tone that Francis could already feel his pants getting tighter. "You're looking rather handsome tonight."

He smiled. "You're looking gorgeous."

"Don't tell me things I already know, boy. But you can tell me something I don't: your name."

"Francis Bonnefoy."

She smiled. "My name is Camille Francour."

He smiled, as well. "Well... follow me, Mademoselle."

~*~

Francis woke with a groan. "Wild ni- huh?" He looked around. Where had Camille gone?

He looked over, seeing his wallet carelessly thrown across the room. He picked it up and looked inside it... seeing every bill stolen.


End file.
